


Never the Same

by Raine_Wynd



Series: Love and Conviction [3]
Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Clan Denial, Episode Tag, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:25:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan discovers Richie isn't dead like he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never the Same

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Conviction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/77068) by [Raine_Wynd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd). 



> Disclaimer and Notes: My only profit is feedback. This grew out of too much time spent listening to Poets of the Fall's "Carnival of Rust" and other songs in the car with my husband.  
> Beta by samjohnsson – thanks, amigo!
> 
> Warning for death of a canon recurring character.

_May 1997_

Methos and Joe stared at Duncan as he knelt, sobbing, over a corpse. Neither could understand what the Highlander meant by "I killed Richie"; the body was clearly not that of the young immortal, though the clothes looked like something Richie would have worn, and oddly, Richie's sword was also at the scene.

"What the hell is going on, Methos?" Joe demanded.

Methos wrinkled his nose. "Magic, apparently," he said, sounding disgusted. "Mac, it's not Richie. Whoever it is, isn't Richie," he tried telling the grief-stricken immortal, but Mac would not be swayed. In his mind, he'd killed Richie. Methos wound up taking Mac to a monastery to heal from the pain while Joe buried the unfortunate corpse, who turned out to be Richie's Watcher, and went looking for Richie, but he, too, had disappeared.

* * *

Over the next fifteen years, there would be scattered reports of a redheaded immortal matching Richie's description under half a dozen different names:

_Watcher Field Notes: 1999_

Connor MacLeod attended the WWF match tonight at Madison Square Garden with a young redheaded immortal male, possibly a new student named Ryan. May also be Richie Ryan, reappearing after being 'killed' in Paris. Connor has not been in public much the last few years, though previous Chronicles indicate he normally retreats from the city when he's taken on a new student….

…not a new student; the immortal is named Josh Culhane, but he looks like he could be Richie Ryan's long-lost twin. Wrong color eyes, wrong sword, definitely not in Ryan's league – Ryan, even when he had money, rarely looked like he was comfortable in more upscale locations…seems to be a good friend of Connor's and Rachel's….

_Cairo, Egypt, October 2004_

"I hate wearing a tux. Nothing good happens when I wear a tux."

Grace Chandel laughed and straightened her redheaded companion's tie. "You look wonderful, Steve," she said, a twinkle in her eye as she deliberately emphasized her companion's name. "Your charm is why I need you so."

'Steve' rolled his eyes, but gallantly took her arm and escorted her into the ballroom of the hotel for the charity fundraiser they were attending. "If I didn't know better, 'Ellie,' I'd think you'd want something from me."

She laughed again, and kissed him on his cheek. In the shadows, a photographer snapped their photo. A few minutes later, a request to identify 'unknown immortal accompanying Grace Chandel' was being processed. To the Watcher's surprise, his request came back with "Richie Ryan is deceased, killed in 1997. Please provide details on new immortal. Is Steve Grace Chandel's new student?"

_Manila, Philippines, February 2008_

From her protected spot in the alley, Maria Telan Watched the death of a semi-famous headhunter. Alan Cao had left a string of heads on the Asian continent for the last three decades, but he'd chosen wrong tonight. Far from the inexperienced immortal he preferred to target, Alan had picked a man who moved like the videos Maria had seen of the MacLeods. The redheaded immortal hadn't wanted to fight, had even tried to walk away; Alan had mistaken that for inexperience and fear. Alan had attacked, and found himself in a fight for his life. Maria almost felt sorry for Alan, though she silently cheered when his head fell to the ground.

As soon as the Watchers made their reports, though, the redhead would vanish, as if someone in the system was letting him know he was being Watched.

_April 2012 – Paris, France_

Nick studied the red-haired man who walked into Sanctuary and paused at the threshold of the main room. The leather motorcycle jacket looked weathered and battered, but of good quality, as was the rest of his gear. A backpack was slung across one shoulder. The backpack was curved to fit the shape of a helmet; it was very similar to the one Nick owned. The song of immortality that slid across Nick's senses told him that the man was likely not the twenty-something he appeared to be; young, inexperienced immortals never had that deep bass note.  
  
Nick wasn't surprised when the stranger came straight towards him. It was late afternoon; the after-work crowd hadn't yet arrived, and there were only seven patrons in the bar, all mortal. Nick wiped down the granite countertop in front of him, and waited with a friendly smile, though the closer the other man got, the more concerned Nick became. Most immortals knew who he was because he'd become famous as a mediator between immortals. Now Nick wondered whom he'd be mediating, and what the repercussions would be.  
  
Still, Nick had a job to do, one that had nothing to do with immortal business. "What can I get you?" he asked in French.  
  
The stranger grinned. "Water, to start," he said. "I'm Rich Ryan. You must be Nick Wolfe."  
  
Nick shook the other man's hand, finding it calloused and strong. "I get that a lot," he said drolly.  
  
Rich laughed. "I suppose you do. I'm not looking for anyone, and all I care about right now is whether your cook is as good as I hear he is."  
  
"Better," Nick promised, pushing a menu towards the other man. "You look tired. Been riding a while?"  
  
Rich nodded as he perused the menu. "Came from Morocco, didn't feel like making a ton of stops beyond what I needed for gas," he said. "I'll take the steak sandwich, medium rare, and the cheese fries." He then scanned the taps to Nick's left. "Anything you'd recommend? Last time I had French beer, it sucked."  
  
"How long ago was that?" Nick wondered, as he quickly keyed in the order into the register at the end of the bar.  
  
"About ten years," Rich replied with a shrug.  
  
"You have a preference for a certain type of beer? Stout, ale, something in between?" Nick asked.  
  
"I don't suppose you have any American beers? I'm feeling nostalgic," he grinned, "for my misspent youth. Figured since I heard you were American, my chances of getting something close would be higher here than anywhere else."  
  
In reply, Nick grabbed a pint glass off the rack and stuck it under the last tap. "You're in luck," he told Rich. "This month's rotating tap is an American ale." He set the now-quarter-full glass in front of Rich. "I was feeling nostalgic myself when I put in my beer order; I haven't been back to the States in a while."  
  
Rich admired the color a moment before taking a cautious sip. Pleased at the taste, he pushed the glass back to Nick. "I'll take more of that; that's better than I remember."  
  
After filling the glass full, Nick took a moment to check with his server, who was chatting with her evening replacement. Assured that the patrons were well-handled, Nick then returned his focus to Rich.  
  
"So what do you ride?" Nick asked.  
  
Rich had just started to answer when the sense of an approaching immortal hit both of them. Rich tensed, and his hand went automatically inside his jacket. Nick didn't bother to reach for a weapon, though there was a pistol underneath the counter, just in case. Most immortals could sense sanctified land, Nick had discovered, but there was always a few who couldn't, and then there were the headhunters who didn't care that fighting on Holy Ground could blow up everything.  
  
"Really, Nick, you need to –" Amanda started to say as she sauntered into the room, then stopped in her tracks. "Rich?" she asked, startled.  
  
Rich grinned, looking completely unrepentant and held his arms out wide. "Still alive and kicking, 'Manda. What, you expected any less?"  
  
Amanda stepped forward into the hug, exclaiming, "Of course not. But I'd heard you were down in Mexico City, teaching in a dojo with Oscar Shivar. I kept hoping you'd come back to Paris and see me; it's been over ten years since I've seen you!"  
  
It didn't escape Nick's notice that Amanda's hands had slipped down Rich's body, but Rich just laughed and stepped out of her suggestive embrace. "You haven't changed a bit, Amanda. Always touching me."  
  
"Darling, you've always been so pettable," she declared, and Rich laughed.  
  
Amanda pouted. "You used to blush when I said things like that."  
  
Rich laughed again. To Nick, he said, "The first time I met her, I was eighteen."  
  
Nick groaned sympathetically, even as he wondered what the history between them was. "Amanda, what were you thinking?"  
  
Amanda chuckled. "You were so easy to tease," she said to Rich as they took seats at the bar. "It was refreshing."  
  
Rich just shook his head. "I love how she remembers things, don't you?" he asked Nick, and the ex-cop grinned, liking the redheaded immortal even more. "Three times she got me in trouble with my teacher for letting her charm me."  
  
"Duncan didn't get mad at you, did he?" Amanda asked indignantly, and the pieces of the puzzle dropped for Nick as Rich answered Amanda.  
  
Rumor held that Duncan MacLeod had had a breakdown, likely caused by taking too many heads in too short a span of time, and that one of the possible casualties of his breakdown had been his own student, or, variously, the elder Highlander, or both. Nick knew the elder Highlander was still alive, as Nick had made calls to him on behalf of one of Amanda's enterprises just this morning.  
  
Rich broke into Nick's thoughts with, "Whatever you've heard, just ask me."  
  
"You were Duncan MacLeod's student?"  
  
Rich nodded as he retook his seat at the bar. "I tried stealing from his antique store and got caught. He bailed me out, then later became my guardian. I didn't understand exactly why he'd care until a year later." He shrugged. "I just had the misfortune of being his student when everyone in the world was coming for his head." He paused. "And yeah, he came after my head three times. The last time I barely managed to survive."  
  
"You, uh, have any plans to settle the score?" Nick wondered cautiously. It wasn't uncommon for immortals to set up meetings for revenge-based duels in Sanctuary.  
  
"I don't want his head," Rich said emphatically. "Especially since I know some of the heads he's taken, what those have done to him, and – no. I'm too young to go that insane." Rich's hands underscored his words.  
  
"He's better now," Amanda said softly as she positioned herself to Rich's left, leaning slightly on the bar.  
  
Rich shook his head. "Whatever; I'm not interested in his life." With a dismissive shrug, Rich changed the subject. "So you're the ex-cop who convinced Amanda to go straight."  
  
Nick smiled, even as he admired Rich's fortitude. "I tend to think of it as Amanda convinced me that being a cop wasn't all that it was cracked up to be."  
  
"You weren't happy," Amanda said practically.  
  
"And neither are you right now," Nick pointed out.  
  
"That incident in Majorca was just annoying." She rolled her eyes and sighed.  
  
"Only you could call almost getting arrested and locked up for the next hundred years annoying," Nick said, shaking his head fondly, and Rich looked torn between laughing and incredulity. "You're slipping again; you need a new personal assistant," Nick told her. "I miss Lucy, too, but you need someone to help you with the books the way she did and keep you focused."  
  
"Grace Chandel said you might need a hand; she didn't need mine anymore," Rich interjected. "So, you hiring?"  
  
Amanda blinked and stood up straighter at that question. "Where does that woman get her information? She's usually in back of nowhere."  
  
"I left her in Morocco," Rich said, rolling his shoulders as if to indicate he didn't know her current whereabouts. "And as to how – she carries a satellite phone, and has a notebook full of names and numbers she pulls out to call people when all the sickness and death and mortality start getting to her."  
  
"So that's what she was fishing for when she called," Nick said admiringly. To Amanda, he clarified, "She called to express her condolences over Lucy, but you weren't here."  
  
"Oh, that was sweet of her," Amanda said.  
  
Nick took a moment to reevaluate the younger immortal. Any student of the MacLeods was bound to have attracted headhunters, which explained the deep note to Rich's song of immortality. Amanda's genuine enthusiasm for Rich said volumes as well. Grace Chandel didn't waste her time on idiots, either; whoever was with her had to be competent at helping her fulfill her mission of providing healthcare to the disadvantaged in often-hostile conditions, and far less interested in how many heads they might take in the course of protecting her. "How long did you work for Grace?" Nick asked.  
  
"Off and on the last ten years," Rich replied. "This last time was two years. She's been a good friend. She taught me how to perform field medicine; even got me to get my paramedic credentials. I don't think you need me for that kind of help, Amanda. Or would I be working for both of you? Grace wasn't too clear."  
  
"Nick is my partner in this bar," Amanda told him, "among other partnerships, but mostly what's here in Europe. I need a bookkeeper and a partner when I travel."  
  
Rich narrowed his eyes. "A protector, Amanda?"  
  
Amanda shook her head emphatically. "Not like Grace does, though the woman can –"  
  
"—fight, yes, I know," Rich interrupted. "She taught me a few things –"  
  
"—and as Nick knows, I can handle my own swordfights."  
  
"So why did you let Mac fight for you?" Rich looked genuinely puzzled.  
  
Amanda shrugged. "It made him happy. You're smarter than that."  
  
Rich smiled ruefully. "School of hard knocks, that's my education."  
  
"Duncan told me you'd gotten your associate's in business," Amanda said a little sharply. "He was so proud of you."  
  
Startled, Rich looked taken aback. "He acted like it was something I had to do."  
  
Amanda just shook her head. "I swear, I don't know that man sometimes."  
  
Deciding to leave that conversational thread alone, Nick refocused the subject. "How do you feel about being under the kind of scrutiny that comes with being associated with Amanda?"  
  
Rich considered the question a moment. "It's not the first time I've been in trouble with the law," he said finally. "Besides, I've always loved a good challenge."  
  
"Rich, you don't have to decide this instant. If you want to do it, I'd love to have you, but I've managed without help before. Nick's been handling it wonderfully, but I know –" Amanda turned to Nick "– it's too much for one person. Especially when I just want to go somewhere and need backup; you don't like leaving here completely unattended."  
  
"Our managers are good, but I feel better when there's an immortal here, just in case," Nick told Rich.  
  
"Understandable," Rich said. "You never can be sure what some of us will do. So, bookkeeping, theft, and companionship?"  
  
Amanda and Nick nodded. "You'd be welcome to help in the bar, too," Nick added. "The job is what you make it to be. If you just wanted to work for me and help me find someone to be Amanda's companion, that's okay too."  
  
Amanda pouted briefly. "Less fun for me, but I know what being a thief does to one's reputation. And as Nick loves to remind me, the technology the police have now makes things so much more complicated to stay out of jail. Whatever you want to do, darling, but I really would love to have your help."  
  
"Oh, the job sounds interesting," Rich assured them. "If you're handling Europe," he looked at Nick, "where are you based in the US?"  
  
"We were going to move to San Francisco, since Torago was becoming too known for me and I adore that city," Amanda said. "As for salary, how to handle the cops, and what do with challenges –" She named a very comfortable salary, then continued, "Deny, stall, do whatever you can; I have a lawyer on retainer for just that purpose. As for challenges: do you have anyone after you?"  
  
Rich shrugged. "Some people who think that a student of the MacLeods is a perfect target, for starters. I just started using Rich Ryan again; Grace and Connor both thought it would be good for me to change my name and throw the trail off a while. I promise I won't do anything to hurt you, Amanda."  
  
Amanda rolled her eyes. "You never could, even when you were stammering and –"  
  
"Just how long have you known each other?" Nick interrupted, curious.  
  
Ruefully, Rich admitted, "Almost twenty years. I was eighteen and not yet one of us. And while I knew about immortals, I'd never met female immortals, and –" He paused. "You set my expectations on that score, Amanda."  
  
Predictably, Amanda preened. "I'll leave you two to figure out the other details," she said, and air-kissed them both. "I'm too tired to think about it." She swept out of the room, headed for the private entrance to the upstairs suite of rooms Nick called home.  
  
"Good thing I changed the sheets this morning," Nick said wryly, trying to sound aggrieved but aware he just sounded fond.  
  
"Isn't it a cliché to live upstairs when you're one of us?" Rich asked.  
  
Nick shrugged, amused. "Probably, but as someone who's looked at rent in a Paris apartment lately for one of the servers here, I'm rather grateful for it. Speaking of – do you need a place to stay? I have a guest room upstairs if you want it."  
  
Rich stared at him. "You don't know me all that well, and you'd let me into your home?"  
  
"You've known Amanda longer than I have, and from what I hear, Grace Chandel has no patience for idiots or for immortals who don't know when not to fight." Nick met Rich's gaze. "Aside from that, I trust my instincts. Seems to me you've played the Game with the hands that have been dealt to you; you don't go looking for a fight."  
  
Rich said nothing for a long moment. "Not any more. That's my only hesitation with working for Amanda. What if someone shows up, hunting for me? Or for you, or for her?"  
  
"We'll figure something out," Nick said. "If nothing else, this is Holy Ground, and I know all the ways out of the city from here."  
  
Rich eyed him warily. "No one's ever said you're a coward. In fact, I've heard you're a dangerous man."  
  
"When you spend a decade living and working on Holy Ground, people expect you to be weaker for it," Nick replied evenly. "I'd rather not spend what time I have out of here fighting challenges."  
  
"Did Amanda teach you?"  
  
"Not at first. I was too pissed off at her back then." Nick paused, then offered, "If you want to spar sometime, I have a space nearby for it, or we could ride out to Amanda's old vineyard she's letting lie fallow for a while."  
  
"I'm always up for more practice," Rich said with a grin.  
  
"And?" Nick prompted, certain there was more.  
  
"And I'll help you find a woman to be Amanda's partner in crime when she travels. There are places a woman can go easily that a man can't – and after the time I've spent working with Grace, I never want to see myself dressed up in drag again."  
  
Nick laughed. "I want to hear the story behind that one."  
  
"Not in a million years," Rich said swiftly. "But whoever it is has to be someone Amanda likes, and who can do the second-story work she prefers. I'm not that good with heights."  
  
"Agreed. So what do you want to do until then?"  
  
"I'll help you with the bookkeeping and any work you want to do around here, but I'd rather stay in one place for the most part. Do you need me to sign any paperwork?"  
  
Nick shook his head. "I wasn't expecting to find anyone today. I'd want to do all that upstairs in the office anyway; it'll be out of sight here and all the forms are up there."  
  
"Works for me. Any problem with me hanging out here?"  
  
Nick shook his head again. "Not at all. I have to brief my evening staff as soon as they all arrive, but after that, I'll be free and we can talk more in private."  
  
"In that case, I'll take another beer when you get a chance." Rich paused. "How did you and Amanda meet? I've heard rumors, but not the whole story."  
  
Nick grinned ruefully. "I was the idiot detective who thought I could arrest her." He waited a moment for Rich's predictable reaction before adding, "You're not the only one she threw off with her flirting. The night I met her, she was having a bubble bath and decided to compliment me on my ass, in French, not knowing I could speak it."  
  
Rich laughed. "I never heard that part of it before." He glanced at the incoming staff. "Go on, do what you need to do."  
  
"Thanks; this shouldn't take long."  
  
Nearly two hours later, Nick was quietly cursing himself for apparently triggering Murphy's Law. One of his servers called in sick, his assistant manager was running late due to a flat tire, and Nick had forgotten that tonight was the night his newest bartender was going mostly solo, which meant Nick couldn't break away as soon as he'd thought.  
  
Then Duncan MacLeod walked in. By now, the bar had filled with more immortals, and those that were there recognized him instantly.  
  
Hastily, Nick made his way to the end of the bar where Rich sat. "There's a back exit to your left if you just want to leave. Or if you just want to head upstairs, the elevator is back that way as well." He passed Rich the elevator passkey and the key to his apartment.  
  
"Thanks, man, but —" he sighed "—I've been avoiding him for fifteen years. Had to face him sometime, and he's not going to disrespect Holy Ground." Deliberately, Rich turned his back on the entrance. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod has honor." Rich sounded mocking. "So much honor, he tried to kill his own student three times. Of course, the fact that student was just abused enough as a child to think that going back to a dysfunctional relationship was normal — well, that's neither here nor there, is it." He took a sip of his beer, then looked at Nick. "Here's about as safe as it can get. I couldn't face him anywhere that wasn't consecrated."  
  
Nick reached out to pat the other man's arm. "Holler if you need me."  
  
Rich grasped Nick's forearm briefly and nodded acknowledgment.  
  
Returning to his post in the middle of the bar, Nick eyed Duncan as the other man approached.  
  
"Nick, good to see you," Duncan greeted cordially. "I'm looking for a Mr. Sorenson," Duncan said to Nick. "Is he here?"  
  
"After all these years, Mac," Rich said dryly, "I can't believe you'd forget one of the first fake IDs you ever made for me."  
  
Duncan turned. Shock impressed upon his face as he gasped, "Richie? But — I thought I killed you!"  
  
Rich didn't look surprised at the statement. "You almost did. Your cousin stopped me at the gate, said you were seeing things that weren't there, and that if I valued my head, I'd leave with him instead. Since you'd tried to take my head before, I decided I was better off with him."  
  
Duncan looked as though he wasn't sure what to believe.  
  
Rich rolled his eyes and gestured impatiently. "I'm not fake, I'm not dead, and really, in hindsight, all that flannel plaid was so not me. I should've listened to Tessa when she said I needed better fashion sense than Goodwill. Do you know, your cousin can be worse than anyone I've ever known when he insists on dressing the part? Says it's because he has a Spanish peacock in his head."  
  
Abruptly, Duncan relaxed and laughed. "My God, Richie." He started to get closer, intent on a hug, but Rich held up a hand.  
  
"This doesn't mean I forgive you for going after me," Rich said quietly. "I don't know if I ever will. You treated me like shit when I was around, and then got mad when I wasn't who you expected me to be. If it weren't for your cousin, you'd have left me on the streets."  
  
Duncan stared at him. "I would have checked on you."  
  
Rich snorted. "Yeah. When it was convenient for you and Connor knew it. He never told you he was out hunting that year, doing a little 'weed control' as he calls it. Else he wouldn't have foisted me off on you."  
  
Duncan blinked. "Richie, I'm sorry for whatever wrong you think I've done but —"  
  
"I don't hate you," Rich interrupted, his voice even. "I just don't want to play the role of the prodigal son anymore, because I can't. As far I'm concerned, you and I aren't friends; we're just two people who used to know each other once upon a time." The young immortal pushed a set of keys across the bar to Duncan. "The keys to your new home. Grace sends her regards, by the way."  
  
"You were with Grace?"  
  
Rich rolled his eyes at the surprise and insinuation in the other man's tone. "Not that it's really any of your business, but yes, I was with her, but not her lover."  
  
Now Duncan looked pissed. "I'm sorry."  
  
"So am I," Rich said quietly, and rose to his feet, picking up his motorcycle gear as he did so. "See you in a bit, Nick." He dropped some bills to pay his tab, then slung his backpack across one shoulder and departed, not looking back as he headed towards the elevator leaving up to Nick's apartment.  
  
Nick then turned his attention to Duncan, who looked dazed. Nick poured the older immortal a shot of scotch, who inhaled the fumes before pushing it back. "Thanks, but no."  
  
He sighed, and asked, "Do you think I have any chance?"  
  
"Of what?" Nick asked. "Forgiveness? Did you try to take his head three times?"  
  
Duncan stared at him. "You don't know what happened."  
  
Nick shrugged and poured the shot of scotch down the drain. "I know enough to know he has every right not to want you in his life, but when a friend asked him to deliver keys to you, he did it. What you do with that, and with what he said to you tonight, is up to you. Goodnight, MacLeod." Nick nodded to his evening manager and left Duncan sitting at the bar.  
  
It didn't take long for Nick to reach his apartment. He'd taken residence on two floors. The elevator opened into a hallway with only one door on the left-hand side. The heavy front door was carved with an intricate pattern. Rich had locked the door, but Nick had been prepared for that and used his spare key. He'd stopped off at the office on the second floor and grabbed some employment paperwork; officially, Rich would become the operations assistant for Sanctuary.  
  
Upon entering, Nick found Rich warily regarding him a few feet away, a rapier in hand. Rich visibly relaxed when he saw Nick had come alone and put his sword back into his jacket. Stepping back, he moved towards the sofa, never once turning his back on Nick.  
  
The great room, with a wall of windows on the right-hand side, sprawled across two-thirds of the unit, showcasing a comfortable seating arrangement centered on a flat-screen TV, a gourmet kitchen with an attached nook, and a formal dining area. Low bookcases packed full of books acted as informal dividers. The left third of the floor was devoted to a home office, a library, and a full bathroom. A gently curving staircase in one corner led up to the second floor, where the four bedrooms were.  
  
Silently admiring Rich's caution, Nick asked, "Did you find everything okay?"  
  
Rich nodded and started to hand back the keys he'd borrowed. "I took the bedroom off to the left of the stairs. Amanda's asleep in the other guest bedroom."  
  
"Not surprising," Nick said, refusing the offer to return the keys with a wave of his hand. "She likes the bed in there better." He paused, waiting for the question he could almost read on Rich's face.  
  
"I could've sworn I heard wedding bells for you two." Rich pocketed the keys and sat down.  
  
Nick chuckled ruefully and said, "Since part of my job is ensuring her personal security, I wind up knowing who she's with when, and there's no room for jealousy in the partnership we have. If we ever did get married, she'd feel obligated to stay with me. The last time she stayed that close, she wound up having an extremely bad year. Aside from that, we do much better as friends; we don't get into arguments about sharing and fidelity, among other things." Nick shrugged. "Let me just take a quick shower and we can start in on this paperwork." Nick gestured to the folder in his hand before dropping it to the coffee table.  
  
Rich studied him a moment. "I can wait until tomorrow," he said gently. "You were probably looking forward to putting your feet up and –"  
  
Nick laughed. "Today isn't the longest day I've worked. I won't take long." He paused. "I was wondering something, though: were you planning on giving MacLeod his keys?"  
  
Caught off guard by the question, Rich took a moment to answer. "Spent the entire trip from Morocco debating whether I should. Thought about just dropping them off to whatever hotel he was staying at and having the desk clerk handle it."  
  
"So why didn't you?"  
  
Rich sighed and met Nick's gaze. "Because that wouldn't have been the right thing to do, and I promised Grace I'd deliver them."  
  
Nick said nothing for a moment. "One of the biggest arguments Amanda and I have is the difference between what the right thing to do is and what the smart thing to do is," he admitted, and saw understanding flash across Rich's face. "Some would say that I'm a fool for staying here on Holy Ground, running a bar, and occasionally helping Amanda retrieve something she wants. But every time I think about walking away from her or any of the friends I've made among us, I keep wondering what would happen if there wasn't someone like me to make a difference."  
  
Rich half-laughed. "I'd say that was a mark of a smart man who knows when to act." He paused. "Only problem with delivering the keys is that I know Mac will want something from me, and I just feel like the price is too high."  
  
"You know you're not obligated to do anything."  
  
"Yeah." Rich sighed. "Here's to hoping Mac will listen when I say I'm not interested."  
  
****  
  
Two weeks later, Rich sat at the end of the bar, half-heartedly reading a mystery novel he'd found in Nick's extensive library. He was taking a break from making sense of Lucy's notes on Amanda's records of what she'd stolen and what she'd sold; the mix of French, German, and English Lucy had used was its own code. Rich had never learned German, though he'd picked up conversational Russian, Spanish, Arabic and several African languages thanks to working for Grace. Since the fragmented language of Lucy's notes had stumped him, Rich had decided they could wait until Nick got back from grocery shopping. By comparison, reconciling Sanctuary's books was a breeze; Nick had nothing to hide.  
  
Thinking of Nick made Rich smile. Nick had bitched about being challenged the moment he stepped out of his bar, something Rich had already been witness to twice, but Rich had seen that Nick didn't take every challenge, preferring to talk his way out of them as much as possible. While the ex-cop didn't preach "lay down your swords" like the false Methos, he did advocate a "why the fuck does it have to be now?" philosophy. Nick held no illusions about his ability to mediate every dispute or even prevent himself from being in a challenge, which was a kind of honest practicality Rich appreciated.  
  
This afternoon Nick was making a run to pick up ingredients to cook dinner for his girlfriend. It was to be the first time Sherrie would meet Amanda and Rich; silently, Rich hoped Amanda would behave, but he knew it would depend on whether Amanda thought the woman was good enough for Nick. In her own way, Amanda regarded Nick as hers.  
  
The distinct klaxon of an approaching immortal sounded in Rich's head, and he looked up, expecting the ex-cop. Instead of Nick, however, the next immortal to walk into the bar was Duncan. Silently, Rich groaned and debated leaving the room, but he knew it would feel like he was running away.  
  
Duncan paused as he saw Rich. "Richie –"  
  
"I go by Rich these days," Rich corrected flatly. "If you're looking for Nick or Amanda, you're out of luck."  
  
"Actually, I was hoping to talk to you."  
  
Warily, Rich eyed his former teacher. "About what?"  
  
"About the job you're taking here. I thought you were going to do more with your education."  
  
Rich rolled his eyes. "I'm not your concern anymore, Duncan. You made that abundantly clear years ago; you told me when you gave me my first sword that I was to make my own way as one of us." Rich's eyes narrowed. "What kind of job do you think I'm taking?"  
  
"Amanda said you were going to help her and Nick. I thought you'd decided you weren't going to be a thief."  
  
Struck by Duncan's words, Rich looked at him incredulously. "You have no fucking right to judge me. You lost that right when you tried to take my head when I did nothing to deserve it. You're the one who overestimated your ability to handle that many Quickenings in a row and didn't warn me that side-effect was even a possibility. You would've killed me that night at the racetrack; I didn't want to believe Methos when he was telling me demons didn't exist — at least, not that kind of demon. I feel sorry for the guy you did kill."  
  
Duncan blanched as he realized someone had told Rich the truth. "I…I didn't know you knew —"  
  
"—That's right. You didn't, because you didn't ask. Now why the fuck are you trying to be in my life?"  
  
"I thought —" Duncan stopped, and visibly regrouped. "We have friends in common. I thought maybe we could start over."  
  
Rich shook his head. "I'm willing to be civil for their sakes, but I really don't care to know you that well again. What I do with my life is my choice, and I'm choosing to leave you, and your judgments, out of it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work I need to finish." Rich rose.  
  
"Then why did you agree to deliver my house keys?"  
  
Rich stopped and turned. "You know, Nick asked me that the other day. All I can say is that I wouldn't trust the keys of my house to a stranger, either. Besides, Grace paid me to do it."  
  
"If it's money you need —" Duncan began.  
  
Rich shook his head impatiently. "I'm not broke and haven't been in years." He studied his former teacher and sighed. "Give it up, Mac. I'm not the same guy you used to know; quit trying to put me in that old box. You killed that naïve, trusting guy who would have followed you anywhere."  
  
Duncan eyed him a long moment, then closed his eyes briefly. "Thanks for the hand delivery," he said roughly; clearly he'd been hoping for a reconciliation. For a moment, it looked as though he wanted to say more. Rich half-expected him to tell him to watch his head, but then Duncan just nodded shortly, then walked out of the bar.  
  
****  
  
_August_  
  
Duncan paused warily on the sidewalk as his senses picked up another immortal. The city was full of tourists; most locals had followed tradition and taken summer vacation elsewhere. Sanctuary, his destination, lay six blocks ahead. He'd spent a very frustrating day dealing with a gallery owner who hadn't believed he was Tessa Noel's legal representative, and the bar offered the promise of some cooler air, good Scotch, and possibly some distraction from his current problems. In the current mood he was in, Duncan was almost in the mood for a fight.  
  
Duncan scanned the nearby area, trying to find the other immortal he'd sensed. From previous conversations with Nick, Duncan knew that it wasn't unusual for fights to break out in the bar's immediate vicinity. Cautiously, Duncan moved forward, towards a nearby alley. As he got closer, he could hear the distinctive clang of swords.  
  
Rich was battling against a man Duncan didn't recognize. Taller, broader of shoulder and girth, the stranger had mass on his side, but he didn't have Rich's speed or skill. It didn't take long before Rich had him on his knees.  
  
"Your choice, Kastner," Rich said, as he pressed his advantage. "Yield and turn yourself in to the cops, or I take your head now."  
  
Sword at his throat, Kastner hesitated a moment before spitting out, "Yield."  
  
Roughly, Rich released him and took a precautionary step back.  
  
"You're a dead man, Ryan," Kastner jeered as he started to move out of the alley.  
  
Duncan decided to make himself known at that point. Stepping into view, he halted Kastner's progress. "Rich, what did he do?"  
  
Rich looked startled, but recovered quickly. "Tried to sell drugs in Sanctuary."  
  
"Who the fuck are you?" Kastner demanded.  
  
"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Duncan introduced himself, and watched the man abruptly crumble.  
  
"Shit, no wonder you could take my head," Kastner gasped as he half-turned to face Rich. "You're that Rich Ryan, MacLeod's student. Look, man, I swear I won't do it anymore, please don't take my head, please don't," Kastner mumbled hastily as he turned to face Duncan. "I'll turn myself in right now, just please let me out of here."  
  
Some perverse imp inside Duncan made him say, "Rich? What do you think?"  
  
Rich shrugged. "I think the cops are on their way right now," he said, picking up his sword and walking out of the alley as the sound of sirens came closer.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Duncan walked into the bar. He'd stayed to make sure Kastner was arrested, and been surprised when the arresting officers had made comments to the effect that Kastner was yet another in a long line of people who suddenly wanted to be arrested. Duncan had claimed to be just a random passerby, a fact that had garnered him the barest of raised eyebrows.  
  
As soon as Duncan took a seat at the bar, the muscular, heavily tattooed female bartender poured him a double shot of Scotch. At his look of surprise, she said, "On the house; Rich said you might need it."  
  
"Thanks," Duncan told her. He took a sip, savoring the flavor. "Is he around?"  
  
The bartender shook her short-cropped head. "I don't think so. I can get Mr. Wolfe if you need —"  
  
Duncan stopped her. "No, that's fine."  
  
The bartender smiled. "Let me know if you need anything else. The fish of the day is a salmon fillet with zucchini pancakes."  
  
Duncan had finished his drink and was waiting for a refill and an order of the salmon special when he sensed the presence of another immortal, seconds before Nick walked up to his table.  
  
"Everything all right?" Nick asked solicitously as he set a glass of Scotch down.  
  
Duncan studied him a moment. "I didn't take Kastner's head, but I've had a really bad day."  
  
"So I've heard, on both counts," Nick said, startling Duncan.  
  
"I can see Rich telling you about Kastner, but how did you find out I was trying to sell Tessa's work again?"  
  
Nick grinned. "Sevier Gallery is run by a former bartender of mine. She called me to verify who you were."  
  
"That explains her paranoia," Duncan said dryly. "How long did she work here?"  
  
"Five years," Nick replied, his eyes lighting with pride. "Enough time to fund her dream."  
  
"I see." From previous experience, Duncan knew Nick could care less what he did, as long as it didn't upset Amanda. "It's good to know you inspire such loyalty among your friends."  
  
Nick's grin didn't slip. "It's a precious thing, indeed. If you're hoping to figure out why Rich does what he does, you might want to talk to your cousin sometime. He tried calling you, but apparently your number's changed. Here's his current number." Nick pulled out a business card and set it on the bar next to Duncan's glass. "Your dinner should be up shortly."  
  
Duncan stared at the card, and then at the direction Nick had gone. With a sigh, Duncan resigned himself to détente, to friends and allies who would carefully negotiate the line between him and Rich. Not for the first time in the last several months, the Highlander wondered when the hurt over his mistakes would end. Rich wouldn't forgive him enough to be his friend again; Connor would make him pay for being an idiot in that terse way that never failed to make Duncan feel like he was a green immortal all over again. Amanda had made her position clear as well; she'd turned him down quite firmly, claiming she was involved with Nick, even though Duncan had seen Nick's girlfriend just minutes before that. Duncan had read the look on her face, and decided against arguing with her. Nothing had ever been the same since that fateful night at the racetrack, and the reminder of how much had changed made Duncan ache for what he'd lost.


End file.
